


Into Hell

by onthewaters



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, Kink Meme, M/M, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:33:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onthewaters/pseuds/onthewaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in or before 2011 for a prompt on one of the kink memes. I've lost the prompt... </p><p>Non-con Blackwood/Watson</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Hell

**Author's Note:**

> ***
> 
> If you consider posting this work to Goodreads: Please do not do it. These stories are fanfiction, and I don't want them near a site that's primarily for published original fiction.
> 
> While I appreciate that you might enjoy having them on your Goodreads shelves, please respect my wishes.
> 
> Thank you.

If only Holmes wasn’t unconscious. Watson could have done with some reinforcement. 

But he was, sprawled limply on the settee, arms bound above his head, bruises blossoming on his face and torso. He hadn’t gone down easily, but down he was, and for a moment, Watson felt some irritable annoyance that Holmes had, once again, managed to leave him with the consequences of actions he had no control over and would never have taken if given the choice. As for choice, there was a continuing lack of it.

“Feel free to examine him, Doctor,” Blackwood said from his seat in the armchair. “Far be it from me to disallow the presence of his physician.”

Bastard, Watson didn’t say, but it was something, and the rather gorilla-like gentleman behind him did not move as he crossed the room. Heartbeat, eyes, breathing; Holmes’ unconsciousness looked real enough, and seemed to stem from a lump behind his ear. The bruises were fight-inflicted rather than torture which was a relief. Not that Watson wouldn’t have understood if Blackwood had wanted to get some of his own back. God knew that Watson was Holmes’ friend and still tempted to give him the occasional broken nose. 

He straightened, facing Blackwood in his chair. “I see you’ve left no permanent injuries.”

“Yet.”

For a moment it took his breath away. Then he forced air into his lungs. “I see.”

Blackwood smiled. “I believe you do, Doctor. But perhaps you wish to ask the most relevant question?”

Watson did not dare do so much as shift his weight. “How may _yet_ be prevented?”

“How indeed.” Blackwood stood, only to turn his back on Watson for a glance out the window. “Tell me, Doctor Watson, what is it like living with a genuis of Mr Holmes’ caliber?”

Good God, he wanted to trade banter. At least Holmes wasn’t awake to hear it. 

“It has its moments. Ups and downs,” Watson said. 

“I suppose it must.” A pause, during which Watson concentrated on keeping his breath calm and even. Showing weakness to Blackwood was going to be unwise in the extreme.

“Doctor Watson, I wish you to know that I do not actually have a quarrel with you, nor with Mr Holmes. However, I am convinced that I would be better served by his death than to permit him to wander about freely. His detecting does impair my actions.” Watson tensed. “But I am willing to let him live. In exchange for something I need rather more.”

“What would that be?”

“A service, Doctor. A medical service, continuously, for at least six or seven months. Having perused your records, I believe that you can provide this service to my satisfaction.” Blackwood lingered over the word, as if trying to conserve its taste. 

“Medical service.” 

“In exchange for Mr Holmes’ life.”

Perhaps it was a good thing that Holmes was unconscious. Watson’s chest contracted. He forced himself to relax. 

“Fascinating proposal, Lord Blackwood. I suppose we should discuss terms.” 

“They are simple: you will be informed a day or two in advance if I require your services or presence. You will then make yourself available and perform the medical procedures I require. There will be no discussion of what you will or will not do. Or rather, any discussion will be paid for by Mr Holmes.”

“In return?”

“Mr Homes lives. Comfortably, if not precisely freely. He will not be mistreated unless you violate the agreement. I will go so far to permit him experiments, a violin, and all the literature he may wish for. Visits from you to be negotiated.”

“No.”

There was a pause. Blackwood had gone still. Watson felt the man behind him shift. He felt like a mountain climber, looking for that final hold, and running out of strength. He was aware of his body as rarely before, leg throbbing, shoulder aching from tension. Acid instead of blood. From the corner of his eye he could see that Holmes still had not moved and was still limp as only the unconscious can be.

Blackwood sighed. “You disappoint me, Doctor. I had hoped for a stronger friendship between you.”

“It’s not the friendship that’s in question,” Watson said. “We need to negotiate your terms, for as they are, I cannot agree.”

“Negotiate?” Blackwood asked. “What did you have in mind?”

“Keeping Holmes as a prisoner is unacceptable.” Watson was over the precipie now, open air before him. “Any bargain we may strike will have to include his freedom.”

“Hm.” Blackwood returned to his armchair. “In that case, I must ask for rather more than medical services. After all, if Mr Holmes walks freely, my position is made so much more difficult.”

Watson shrugged with a nonchalance he did not feel. “Name your terms.”

Blackwood nodded, as if to himself. “I will. Come here, Doctor.” He waved Watson closer until their knees almost touched, looking him up and down. 

Then Blackwood touched him. 

He rested his hand on Watson’s hip, eyes pensive. For a moment, Watson could not comprehend the situation; then he shuddered. Blackwood raised an eyebrow. “Too dear for you, Doctor?”

 _Yes_ , Watson wanted to scream, _far too dear, even for Holmes_ , but he knew even as the thought blazed through his mind that it was a lie. Not too dear. Especially for Holmes. He shook his head. 

“If – if that is what you want, we may come to an agreement.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, far off and distorted.

Blackwood nodded. “I’m glad, Doctor. So let us amend the bargain thus: your services rendered to me will be medical and sexual in nature. Mr Holmes will be allowed to escape his confinement here after a short interlude to make the escape more believable. Should you negate on your part, I will consider my side of it null and void as well. Of course, you will remain discreet. In our own best interests.”

Watson’s mouth was dry. “Done.”

“Good. Now kneel down to seal the bargain. Then I have your first medical case for you.”

Watson closed his eyes, and braced himself on the armchair to kneel down. His leg protested; he ignored it. There was only room for one thought.

_Please, God. Give that Holmes remains unconscious._

It seemed to take an eternity, and every sound made him start for fear that Holmes had woken and was watching him perform on Blackwood. By the time Blackwood had spent himself in Watson’s mouth, been licked clean, dried, and tucked away, Watson’s leg was burning with strain, and he nearly fell back trying to stand. Blackwood gave him time, which in another would have seemed like consideration. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t, and Watson forced himself to stand without support.

“Not too bad for a beginner, Doctor,” Blackwood told him almost languidly. “Now, I have a young woman a few doors down the hall who is in dire need of treatment. Shall we go so you can tend to her? We wouldn’t want her to miss her great performance.”

Watson didn’t trust his voice. With a glance back at Holmes, who mercifully still had not regained consciousness, he followed Blackwood into the hall. And into Hell.


End file.
